


Trick or Treat

by Siderius



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 11:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8284075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siderius/pseuds/Siderius
Summary: George Weasley decides it's high time that his brother Fred's final prank plays out. His chosen victim; Hermione Granger. Winner of the Harry Potter Facebook Group Platform 9 3/4 June Fanfiction Competiton.





	

The Head Boy and Girl suites at Hogwarts were arguably some of the best rooms in the castle. It was certainly the most luxurious and Draco Malfoy felt right at home as he sank into the dark blue cushions of the plush couch that was situated before an intricately carved fireplace. A mahogany coffee table with matching carvings held an ice cold glass of pumpkin juice. The rest of the Head’s common room consisted of two tan armchairs, soft white throw rugs tossed across the hardwood floors, ceiling to floor bookcases and a large round table with several chairs for studying with friends. Two spiral staircases led up to their respective bedrooms, with a shared bathroom between them.  
Draco reflected that the Head’s accommodations were actually better than the ones he had at Malfoy Manor, but that was only because his parents were absent. His mum and dad had been overbearing since the second war came to an end and frankly, he was getting sick of all their coddling. The need to escape became more and more overwhelming as time passed, so when McGonagall had written to ask if he would like to repeat his seventh year, Draco had jumped at the opportunity. The offer of the Head Boy position was a surprising, but welcome addition. He knew that he wasn’t the Headmistress’ first choice (her precious Potter decided not to return), but it was better than the alternative.  
Draco had no idea what kind of reception he would receive in Slytherin House. His parents had defected from the Dark Lord and the elite Pure-bloods would neither forgive or forget that transgression. Draco had gotten his answer during this year’s welcoming feast. Very few Slytherins in his age group had decided to return, but the few who did wasted no time in letting him know exactly where he stood. Draco might have been amused by their attempts to imitate a Basilisk, but somehow, knowing that those glares were directed at him, took all the fun out of it. The stares and whispered promised retribution. Being murdered in his sleep had never been high up on his list of priorities.  
It only made him appreciate his own room that much more. Draco didn’t even mind sharing the accommodations with the current Head Girl. Hermione Granger; Gryffindor, feisty, scarily intelligent and a Muggleborn. Draco should hate her. He had hated her, but the war had changed him. He had no desire to live through another Dark Lord. Though few and far between, there were some Pure-bloods that, like him, realised change was necessary if they wanted to avoid dark times in the future. Changing his views was no picnic; it was the hardest thing that Draco had done in his eighteen years, but it was happening. Though she didn’t know it, Hermione was a big part of his progress.  
It happened during the summer months. To escape the manor, Draco volunteered to help with the repairs in the castle. He was the only Slytherin from his year group to do so, so the Headmistress had paired him with Hermione, trusting that her star pupil could keep him in line. Draco had been expecting distain, arguments and maybe even a curse or two. A small part of him even welcomed it. Maybe then he would stop feeling guilty for standing still while she was tortured by his aunt. More than anything, he wished he could cast aside his pride and apologise what he’d done, but he was still a Malfoy and Malfoys did not say they were sorry. Hatred. Yes. He could have handled that.  
What Draco did not expect was the genuine concern lingering in Hermione’s brown eyes as she asked him how he’d been doing since the battle. The question had thrown him and for the first time since he’d met the bushy haired brunette, the two of them managed to have a civil conversation. It escalated from there; a quiet friendship born from long hours of hard work and their mutual desire to forget the past. Well, as close to friendship as the two of them could get, considering their history. At least Hermione had stopped glaring at him suspiciously whenever Draco asked her questions. It was a small overturn, but he’d take it, especially considering the Head Girl’s current situation.  
Right on cue, a small pile of presents appeared on the coffee table. His glass of juice tipped over, nearly spilling, but with his Seeker reflexes, he managed to catch it. With an irritated sigh, Draco pulled himself up from the couch and stretched. The spiral staircase to his left led to Hermione’s room. Climbing the stairs, he was about to knock, when the door flew open. The Head Girl stood in the archway, her arms filled with scrolls and numerous books. He lowered his fist and held out his hands, silently offering assistance. Hermione smiled and placed half the books in his arms before going downstairs. Placing the scrolls and books on their study table, she started spreading the supplies out.  
“I was just coming to tell you,” said Draco, adding the books he carried to the pile. “You got another delivery.”  
Hermione glanced at the coffee table and, seeing the brightly wrapped packages, her expression became a mixture of annoyance and reluctant resignation.  
“I’ll open them later,” she said firmly. “We have work to do; the Hallowe’en Ball is a week today and we still haven’t decided on the decorations.”  
Draco groaned. How could he have forgotten? As Head Boy and Girl, it was their responsibility, with help from the Prefects, to plan any social events throughout the school year. Hermione had expressed a desire to have a costume party for Hallowe’en this year. In the beginning, Draco had stomped all over the idea. Yes, he was becoming more tolerant, but he refused to allow the purely Muggle concept to make a mockery of All Hallows Eve. Fortunately, most of the Prefects understood where he was coming from and took his side. Hermione had dropped the idea, but looked so dejected that Draco found himself offering a compromise. Costumes no; but masked balls were not unheard of.  
To his intense surprise, Hermione loved the idea and threw herself into preparations with her usual, overbearing enthusiasm. She saw the event as a challenge; a possible way to bridge the gap between the two worlds, even if just for an evening. Draco thought she might just pull it off too. The Headmistress had given free reign for menu, music, decorations and dress code. A string quartet from Hogsmeade had volunteered their services for the night and Hermione had spoken with the House-Elves about a buffet style dinner. Very Muggle she had told him. Draco had insisted on wizarding sweets, rather than Muggle fare, which Hermione grudgingly agreed to. The dress code had been harder.  
Dress robes versus tuxedos and ball gowns. It came close to being a war. Draco had taken to wearing Muggle jeans and tee-shirts on weekends (though he’d never admit it out loud, they were far more comfortable than robes), but absolutely insisted on dress robes for the ball. Hermione was stubbornly clinging to the idea of Muggle evening wear. The new Muggle Studies teacher had put an abrupt and rather sneaky end to the argument. If not for the fact that she was a Muggleborn, Draco would have sworn that Professor Rivell had been a Slytherin. Notices appeared in the house common rooms offering evening classes on the subject of Muggle finery. It was an ingenious way to garner interest.  
Breakfast that morning consisted of Muggleborns and Half-bloods discussing these new classes with no small amount of excitement; especially the witches. The Pure-bloods amongst the students feigned disinterest, but secretly listened to every word being spoken on the subject. Draco attended the first class and knew he’d lost. Several of the haughtiest Pure-blood witches were there, taking copious amounts of notes as Professor Rivell gave a lecture that included diagrams, spells for making clothing, bolts of fabric and something called a fashion magazine. Hermione was undeniably smug as she graciously (gracious in her opinion) allowed dress robes to also be an option for the ball.  
Draco knew better than to fall for that. Anyone wearing dress robes would stand out like a neon green Hippogriff. A discreet owl to his mother had solved his issue of clothing. Once that was in place, everything else just seemed to come together. The string quartets’ mixture of magical and Muggle songs was agreed upon by both Heads with little fuss. All that was left now was the decorations and Hermione had been very agreeable to all of his suggestions thus far. He’d made up several sketches of various ideas, including the seating, the colours they could use and different types of lighting. Those same sketches were now spread out over their study table, being pursued by the brunette.  
“These are beautiful,” Hermione said happily. “Elegant, but mysterious. It’s exactly what I pictured for a Hallowe’en Ball.”  
It was the biggest compliment she had ever given him and he flushed with pride.  
“Did you base this off one of your parents’ balls?” she inquired. “They’re always featured in the social column of the Daily Prophet.”  
“Some of it,” Draco confessed. “Colour scheme and table arrangements mostly. The rest were my ideas though.”  
Hermione nodded and looked back down at the sketches.  
“I love the white drapes along the walls, but can I make one suggestion?”  
Draco shrugged and motioned her towards the drawing, handing her a charcoal pencil. Hermione’s eyes went wide and she shook her head.  
“I can’t draw very well.”  
“You manage just fine in Runes,” Draco reminded her. “A rough sketch will do.”  
Hermione bit down on her lower lip, eyeing the parchment like it might jump up and bite her. Then that Gryffindor courage reared up and she gripped the pencil a little tighter. In the corner of what was the Great Hall, in between the drapes, Hermione sketched a tree. Once Draco caught onto what she was doing, he took the pencil from her and added more detail, twisting the branches and shading them black. Hermione watched him sketch with rapt fascination as he added more trees to various spots throughout the Great Hall. Once he was finished, she raised her wand and conjured soft, glowing lights. The tiny, blinking dots swarmed around him, buzzing about his head before vanishing.  
“Fireflies for the trees,” Hermione explained. “I’ve been practicing; they should last for approximately four hours, give or take a few minutes.”  
“Long enough,” said Draco, picturing the scene. “I never thought of fireflies.”  
“Too many Disney movies,” she remarked.  
He wasn’t going to ask what Disney movies were.  
“Streamers or balloons for the ceiling?” he asked instead.  
“Balloons maybe?” she pointed to his drawings. “We can charm them to float above the dance floor and match your colours.”  
“Agreed,” he said, taking a moment to sketch those in. “What about bats?”  
“The live ones?” she asked, reluctance lacing through her tone.  
“No,” said Draco. “Origami.”  
“I forgot you can do that,” Hermione’s enthusiasm returned. “We can enchant them to fly too! How soon can you make one?”  
Draco smirked and raised his wand, moving it in a half circle as he summoned the Origami bat he’d made earlier from his room. It zoomed across the common room; landing neatly in Hermione’s outstretched hands. She inspected the creation.  
“It’s cute,” she declared.  
“Cute?” he lifted an eyebrow. “It’s supposed to be sharp and elegant.”  
Hermione smothered a giggle and nodded.  
“Definitely cute.”  
“Fine,” Draco grumbled. “I’ll duplicate them and you do the charms?”  
Hermione nodded again, a bit absently. That’s when he noticed; her eyes shifted to the pile of gifts still waiting to be opened. Silently cursing Fred Weasley, Draco rescued his bat, which hung loosely in the brunette’s fingers and motioned her towards the couch. The situation was getting worse. Before, Hermione had been able to resist opening the gifts for hours without breaking a sweat. Now it took a tremendous amount of effort to ignore the bright boxes with their pretty bows. As she sat down, reaching for the first package, Draco graced the pendant around her neck with a malevolent glare. It was a simple thing; sterling silver chain with a small, teardrop sapphire hanging from the end.  
The necklace had been a gift from George Weasley. The note claimed that Fred, his late twin, had bequeathed the pendant to Hermione in his last will and testament. The letter ended with a simple plea for her to honour Fred’s last wishes. Being the sentimental fool that she was, Hermione had put the pendant on without the slightest hint of hesitation. Big mistake. Fred Weasley, prankster extraordinaire, had claimed one final victim. Now that it was around her neck, the damn thing wouldn’t come off. They had tried everything and the teachers were just as mystified as they were. Several angry letters from Hermione and (it was rumoured) a Howler from his mother forced George to fess up.  
The sapphire was not just a sparkling ornament. It was a poet’s stone. Normally this wouldn’t be a bad thing. Poet stones were a popular item amongst young couples. The blue stone was said to represent purity and truth. Combined with a witch or wizards magic, the poet stone cultivated honest emotions and communication. However, if a poet’s stone had been tampered with, the results were… well, not very amusing. According to George, Fred had experimented with several potions and charms. The exact effects were unknown, but when Hermione wore the stone to breakfast that day, practically every male in their year group had fallen all over themselves, spouting sonnets.  
It was funny; the first couple of times. Now it was downright embarrassing and in some cases, humiliating. Presents started arriving almost daily and as much as she tried, the blokes that had sent them absolutely refused to take them back. Leaving them unopened didn’t work either, as the power of the stone compelled the wearer to acknowledge all of her admirers. Fortunately, there were a few males who were immune to the stone’s power. Neville Longbottom, who was in a relationship with Hannah Abbott, didn’t treat Hermione any differently. There was also Blaise Zabini, who was still going out of his way to insult Mudbloods and blood traitors. Draco himself was also immune.  
That was a relief, because George’s confession had also unveiled a solution. Draco didn’t blame Hermione for being angry. If someone had told him to kiss a bunch of guys until the stone cracked, he’d be livid too. That’s why he was thanking his lucky stars that the stone did not affect him. Every time someone mentioned kiss or love in any way, shape or form, Hermione got this murderous look on her face and small objects tended to explode in a violent manner. Shaking his head, Draco turned his attention to the gifts that his fellow Head was unwrapping. Expensive quills, books, enchanted roses and chocolates. Scanning sweets with her wand, she opened the lid and offered it to Draco.  
“They’re going to make me fat,” Hermione complained before biting into the rich, caramel filled confection. “No wonder mum and dad disapprove.”  
“Please,” Draco snorted. “Have you seen the amount of books you lug around the castle on a daily basis? If that doesn’t keep you in shape, nothing will.”  
“It’s not funny Draco,” she said, even as she reached for a second chocolate. “This is getting beyond ridiculous. If I don’t find a solution soon…”  
“You will,” he said firmly. “You’re the smartest witch I know.”  
Hermione managed a weak smile, but it soon fell from her face.  
“And what if I can’t find the answer? The stone is supposed to crack when I kiss the man who has genuine feelings for me. The necklace has been charmed to help me find love and that’s the whole problem. There’s no malicious intent behind the enchantments, which makes them a hundred times harder to break.”  
Draco nodded. He understood. Love was the most powerful force in the world. He’d heard it often enough. Potter’s mother had banished Voldemort for over a decade when she gave her life to save her son. Draco’s own mother had lied to the Dark Lord out of love for him, her only child. Yes, love was indeed a force to be reckoned with.  
“Alright,” he said. “Hypothetically, if you can’t find another solution, how are you going to kiss twenty or more blokes? Without anyone seeing that is?”  
“I have no clue,” she wrinkled her nose. “I really don’t want to, but short of casting Fiendfyre on the blasted thing, there is no other way to break it.”  
Draco shuddered, slightly alarmed that she’d even considered using the cursed fire to break the stone. He remembered the Room of Requirements.  
“I’m sorry Draco,” Hermione apologised. “I would never cast that spell and I don’t know of a single witch or wizard who has that much control.”  
Draco nodded, pursing his lips as an idea came to him.  
“What about the ball? I know that we agreed to go together as friends, but it might be the perfect opportunity to get the kissing bit over with. We’ll all be in masks, so that will allow you relative anonymity.”  
Hermione’s whole demeanour changed as she considered the idea. Draco could see the wheels turning as her face lit up, her relief palatable.  
“That is brilliant!”  
“I know,” he drawled.  
Hermione rolled her eyes and stood up, heading back towards the study table, wand at the ready. It took them little more than twenty minutes to duplicate and enchant his bats. The paper decorations fluttered around their common room, performing graceful loops and occasionally swooping down, zipping across the tops of their heads.  
“What’s next?” she asked.  
“Those trees you came up with,” he decided. “We should be able to collect some branches from the Forbidden Forest and transfigure them.”  
“Let’s go then.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hermione discovered that the closer the Hallowe’en Ball got, the more nervous she became. Draco’s solution to her problem was about as good as it was going to get, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. Kissing twenty plus random blokes at a masked ball was not her idea of romance. Hermione knew she would need every drop of her Gryffindor courage to make it through the event. At this point, she had no choice. This past week, the pendant’s power seemed to increase. The love songs and sappy notes were starting to disrupt classes. Packing up her Arithmancy textbook, she shouldered her bag and left the classroom. Draco was waiting for her outside the classroom, leaning against the wall.  
“Sickle for your thoughts?” he inquired.  
“Just thinking about tomorrow night,” she said, smiling nervously.  
Draco nodded and pushed off the wall, walking with her to the Great Hall for lunch. Hermione was grateful for his presence and not only because he proved to be an excellent deterrent against some of her more amorous admirers. She didn’t know how or why it had happened, but she had grown rather fond of the man that had once been her bitter enemy. Draco had changed, that much was obvious, but Hermione’s opinion of the blonde haired, grey eyed Slytherin had shifted long before that. Every night she relived the war; shards of images and moments that taunted her mercilessly. Ron abandoning her and Harry during the Horcrux hunt, Godric’s Hollow, Fiendfyre and Malfoy Manor.  
The torture she’d endured beneath the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange was something Hermione would never forget. The pain of the Cruciatus and the adrenaline born of sheer terror had made every detail of those moments crystal clear. She remembered the look on Draco’s face, the utter disgust and fear in his silvery eyes as his psychotic aunt cast Crucio after Crucio on a girl he’d known since he was eleven. It was his indecision, his hesitation that had shown Hermione the truth; no matter how much he might hate her or her friends, he didn’t want to see them dead. She truly believed that if he’d been given a choice, if he’d been allowed to pick sides… but that mattered little now.  
“How was Arithmancy?” Draco inquired.  
“Awful,” Hermione felt a rush of irritation. “We were in the middle of a quiz when Terry Boot decided that he needed to dedicate a ballad to my eyes. Professor Vector was so mad she removed fifty points from Ravenclaw.”  
“Ouch,” he winced sympathetically. “Gryffindor or Slytherin today?”  
“Gryffindor,” she said. “I still want to hex Blaise.”  
Blaise was probably the one seventh year male that Hermione actually wished was effected by the poet’s stone. From the moment her situation became public knowledge, the dark eyed Slytherin had gone out of his way to torment her. The females of Slytherin sided with Blaise and made constant snide remarks about love potions and other such nonsense. Hermione had joined Draco at the Slytherin table for dinner last night. Blaise was in fine form; sneering and picking apart her morale character. When the prat had the nerve to ask her which spell she’d used on Draco, Hermione lost it and transfigured the smirking git into a donkey. Extreme? Maybe. She just hoped she’d made her point.  
Entering the Great Hall, Hermione made a beeline for the empty space across from Neville. There was some bristling as Draco sat down next to her, but for the most part, her fellow lions had grown used to having a snake in their midst. Neville greeted both of them; Hermione with genuine warmth and Draco with cool civility. Hannah Abbot joined them as they were helping themselves to lunch, greeting them with a mere nod. Things had become a bit frosty with the Hufflepuff. While Neville might be immune to the effects of the poet’s stone, Seamus Finnegan was not. Susan Bones was heartbroken when the Irishman turned his attention to Hermione. Hannah felt the need to support her friend.  
“How is Susan?” asked Hermione.  
Hannah’s response came out sharp and curt; no change. She wouldn’t even look at Hermione. Instead, the blonde Hufflepuff turned her attention to the Head Boy, asking what time she and the other prefects were needed for set up in the Great Hall tomorrow. Shocked and more than a touch hurt by Hannah’s dismissal, Hermione lowered her eyes to her plate, picking at her food while she listened to Draco issue instructions. She felt tears stinging her eyes and blinked furiously. It was not her fault that she was under some crazy enchantment and the last thing she wanted to do was hurt people. Hermione felt Draco’s hand grasp hers under the table and his strong fingers stilled the trembling in hers.  
“I’ll deal with the Slytherins myself,” Draco continued talking as his thumb brushed over her wrist in soothing circles. “Hermione can handle the Gryffindors.”  
Hermione was enjoying the sensation so much; she failed to notice that Hannah had left to inform the Ravenclaw prefects of their instructions. Draco’s touch, something she’d rarely had the chance to experience, seemed to sink right into her core, draining the tension away. Hermione’s muscles relaxed and it left her feeling more than a touch dazed. Neville was talking, she could see his lips moving, but she couldn’t hear a word the Gryffindor was saying. From the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Draco’s lips curve into a smug smirk. With a final caress, he released her hand. Time seemed to speed up as she shook her head vigorously, attempting to clear the fog that had taken up residence.  
“They’re not coming then?”  
Hermione blinked.  
“I’m sorry Neville, what was that?”  
“Harry and Ron,” he gazed at her with concern. “Are they coming to Hogsmeade?”  
“Oh, yes,” Hermione smiled brightly. “I got their owl this morning. They’re aiming for one o’clock at the Three Broomsticks.”  
Neville nodded and went back to his soup. Hermione, her appetite having returned, attacked her Sheppard’s pie with a will. Draco seemed content to sit in the silence, taking the occasional sip of pumpkin juice from his goblet, his smug smile never wavering. In the past his smirk would have been irritating, but Hermione felt far too good to care right now. This thing Draco had done to her, whatever it was, she’d had no clue how tense she really was until it all melted away. Feeling curiously boneless, Hermione finished her lunch and practically floated out of the Great Hall. Draco walked beside her and the silence remained unbroken as they made their way back to the Heads’ apartments.  
The strange sensation continued as Hermione went up to her room and changed out of her school uniform, donning jeans and a white jumper. Throwing a thick purple cloak over her ensemble, she stuffed her money pouch into her pocket and went back downstairs. Draco was already waiting, also clad in jeans and jumper, but his dark blue cloak was flung carelessly across one of the chairs. Hermione approached carefully, groaning when she saw the coffee table. Another gift had arrived; a small box with blue paper and a white ribbon. All of her earlier tension returned with a vengeance as she sat down and picked up the gift. Turning it over in her hands, she frowned as she noticed something.  
“There’s no note.”  
It was strange. All of the presents she’d received so far had come with long letters spouting eternal devotion from the givers. This had nothing; not even a tag. Reaching for the bow, Hermione untied the ribbon and removed the paper. The blue velvet box caused a panic of butterflies somewhere in her stomach region. She had been sent the odd bracelet and necklace, but this looked a touch more serious. With shaking fingers, she lifted the lid and peered inside. Hermione nearly wept with relief at the sight of a pair of earrings. They were beautiful and clearly expensive; large teardrop sapphires encased in white gold, but all she could think about was how glad she was that it wasn’t a ring.  
“Those are nice,” Draco remarked.  
Hermione took a deep breath before taking a second look at the earrings.  
“They’re beautiful… I wonder who sent them.”  
Taking the earrings from the box, she ran her wand over them, scanning them for any spells or potions. Nothing. Just a normal pair of sapphire earrings.  
“You should wear them to the ball,” Draco suggested.  
“They do match my dress,” Hermione said, frowning. “Exactly… that’s odd. I didn’t show anyone the fabric I used for my dress. It’s been in my room this whole time.”  
“We had study group last week,” he reminded her. “I seem to recall Potter’s fiancée practically begging to see your ball gown.”  
That’s right. Ginny had asked to see her gown, but Hermione had refused. Professor Rivell had casually let slip that she would award extra credit to those who came up with the best designs. Naturally, the chance to earn bonus marks had sent Hermione into transports of delight. Draco had laughed at her more than once as she guarded her gown like a dragon guards its horde. She dismissed his attitude. Clearly he didn’t understand; this wasn’t just a masked ball. This was also a competition. Last Thursday, they had invited a large group to the Heads’ apartments for a late night study session. At some point, Hermione had gone to the kitchens to get snacks. Anyone could have snuck into her room.  
“It’s possible,” Hermione agreed. “It doesn’t explain the earrings though. I thought you made sure not to invite any of my… admirers.”  
“I didn’t invite them,” said Draco, looking mildly offended.  
“This is giving me a headache,” she glanced down at the earrings again.  
They really were beautiful. The man sitting next to her sighed.  
“Just wear them Hermione. Really, what harm could it do?”  
Hermione considered Draco for a moment, noting a touch of irritation in his eyes. That was weird. He’d taken all the gifts she’d received in stride. What was so different about the earrings? Deciding she’d try to unravel that mystery later, Hermione took the box up to her bedroom. Harry and Ron would arrive in Hogsmeade soon and she didn’t want to be late. She hadn’t seen her two best friends since she’d boarded the Express in September. When Hermione came back downstairs, Draco was standing by the portrait, his cloak slung over his shoulders. She hurried over to join him and they left the Heads’ tower. This was the first official Hogsmeade visit since the second war ended.  
Excitement was running rampant amongst the other students. Draco and Hermione walked with a group of third years that were visiting the village for the first time. Hearing their joyous chatter and smatters of speculation, she was struck by the simplicity of it all. This is what school was supposed to be like. No Dark Lords, no mysteries, just friends and new discoveries. Surrounded by the third years’ carefree laughter, Hermione knew that the pain she’d endured and the sacrifices she had made; all of it was worth it. Glancing to her left, she saw that Draco was also in deep thought, his grey eyes looking straight ahead. She wondered what he might be thinking about. Then he spoke.  
“Do you ever miss it?”  
“What? The war?” asked Hermione incredulously.  
“Being a kid,” said Draco. “Do you ever wish you could just go back?”  
“Oh,” she nodded, flushing with shame. “Sometimes.”  
“What do you miss the most?” he queried, ignoring her outburst.  
“The wonder of it all,” she smiled. “The day Professor McGonagall showed up with my Hogwarts’ letter, I felt like I’d stepped into a fairy tale. Imagine finding out that dragons and unicorns actually exist. That magic is real. It was a dream come true.”  
“I really can’t imagine,” he said, sounding sad.  
“What do you miss the most?” Hermione inquired.  
“Choices, opportunities,” Draco flashed a sardonic smile. “Actually, it’s the illusion of having a choice I miss. Being a kid means you have the comfort of never truly knowing where your choices, or your mistakes will lead you.”  
Hermione was astonished. Draco never spoke about the war. In fact, they avoided the topic all together. This was the first time he’d truly opened up about what must be a raw subject for him. She knew that he regretted his actions during that time, but he’d never just come out and acknowledged it. Hermione was at a loss of what to say. Instead, she reached out and laced her fingers through his, squeezing his hand in a silent show of support. They didn’t speak again until they reached Hogsmeade. The third years they’d escorted headed straight for Honeydukes, while Draco eyed the Three Broomsticks warily. Hermione tutted and dragged him into the pub, looking around for Harry and Ron.  
“Honestly,” she said. “Harry and Ron know that we’re friends. There’s no need--”  
“Hermione!”  
“Hermione! Over here!”  
There they were. Her two best friends were sitting at a table in the back of the pub. Ginny was with them, her brown eyes shining with worry as she glanced between Hermione and Harry. She immediately realised what was wrong and stopped dead in her tracks. The pendant. What if it affected Harry? Hermione wasn’t really worried about Ron. While the kiss they’d shared during the final battle had not led to a full blown relationship, there was some hope for the future. Harry however; that would be a disaster.  
“Don’t worry,” Draco whispered in her ear. “It will be okay, trust me.”  
Hermione almost giggled. Draco Malfoy, asking her to trust him. Oh the irony. Yet, as she started moving once more, she found that she did trust him. Harry rose from his seat and pulled her into a one armed hug. Ginny refused to release his other arm. Sure enough, her best friend showed no signs of becoming a lovesick dunce. His fiancée visibly relaxed and greeted both of them warmly. Ron remained in his chair, his blue eyes locked on her side. Hermione frowned and looked at her sleeve, wondering if she’d spilled something on her shirt. That’s when she realised she was still holding Draco’s hand. He seemed to realise this too, because they released each other at the same moment.  
“Hermione,” Ron said, pulling out the chair beside his own.  
“Ronald,” Hermione snapped, annoyed by his show of possessiveness.  
She did take the offered seat, because there wasn’t a chance in hell that Hermione would allow Draco and Ron to sit at the same table without a buffer. She trusted that Harry wouldn’t murder the blonde man without a good reason.  
“Draco,” said Harry, not too venomously. “Won’t you join us?”  
There was a moment of absolute silence, the tension so thick, Hermione felt certain that she could have cut it with a knife and spread it on toast. Silently she pleaded with her three male friends, willing them with her eyes to make an effort. To try, for just one afternoon to get along with one another. For her sake.  
“I’d be happy too Po—Harry,” Draco finally managed through clenched teeth.  
Harry looked taken aback for a moment, as if he hadn’t been expecting a positive response. He quickly schooled his features into a somewhat painful smile and motioned to the empty chair near his own. Draco hesitated, his hands clenched.  
“Would anyone like a drink?”  
Ginny tossed the question out in an attempt to break the ice and it seemed to work, because Draco and Harry immediately offered to get them. Even Ron was pleased with the suggestion, though he probably had something stronger than Butterbeer in mind. Hermione found she was correct in that assumption, as Harry brought back Fire Whiskey for himself and Ron, while Draco had tankards of piping hot Butterbeer. Hermione and Ginny accepted their drinks, taking a small sip while the blonde man took several gulps before sitting down in the chair Harry had offered earlier. After half an hour of talking about the Auror training program and the masked ball, the tension had lessened somewhat.  
“This round’s my shout,” Ron said, standing up. “Hermione?”  
Hermione got up and followed Ron to the bar. It was crowded, as it always was on Hogsmeade visits, so they had to wait a while to get their ordered placed.  
“So,” Ron started. “You and Ferret, huh?”  
“Ron!” Hermione glared at him. “First of all, his name is Draco and secondly, he is my friend. You knew that. I wrote to tell you.”  
“Friend,” he scoffed. “Look Hermione; I know Fred’s prank has you all out of sorts, but do you really need to spend time with him? I mean, it’s Malfoy!”  
“As opposed to the dozen or more be-spelled males that follow me around like lost puppies?” she retorted bitingly. “My friendship with Draco has nothing to do with Fred’s enchantment. I was friends with him before I put the blasted thing on.”  
Hermione tugged on the chain, revealing the glittering sapphire. Ron looked at the stone with utter disgust, his blue eyes narrowing with determination.  
“That pendant has addled your senses,” said Ron with absolute conviction. “And I came here today to break the spell.”  
“What?”  
Hermione didn’t get a chance to say anything further, as Ron had wrapped his arms around her and was kissing her. Her first reaction was utter revulsion. She had never liked Fire Whiskey and that’s all she could taste right now. Her second reaction was to grab the pendant. It remained intact. Well that answered one question; there really was no hope for a future with Ron. Hermione waited patiently until he was done mauling her. When he let up, releasing her with a smile on his face, she felt her next action was completely justified. Ron was not expecting the kiss to result in a punch to the face. Hermione had put all of her considerable force into the blow, knocking him arse over teakettle.  
As Ron went down like a ton of bricks, Hermione flexed her fingers, regarding her hand with mild interest. It seemed that Draco had a point about her lugging books all over the castle. She left him there, sprawled out on the floor and returned to the table to collect her cloak. Draco, Harry and Ginny all looked at her questioningly, but she just shook her head, her body trembling with rage. Slinging her cloak over her shoulders, she stormed out of the pub. Hermione was halfway back to the castle when a hand landed on her shoulder. She whirled around, expecting Draco, but found Harry instead. The Slytherin was there too, but he was maintaining his distance, remaining out of ear shot.  
“You punched Ron?”  
There was no accusation in Harry’s tone, just curiosity. He knew as well as she did that Ron could be a real git sometimes. Hermione nodded.  
“He deserved it. He—he kissed me!”  
“I see,” he glanced at the pendant around her throat. “It’s still intact.”  
“So it would seem,” she murmured, feeling defeated. “Please Harry, I don’t want to think about this right now. I have to break the spell and the only way is to…”  
“Kiss a bunch of lovesick fools,” Harry finished.  
“I don’t want to,” Hermione sniffled. “I wish more than anything that I could just find the right one and put an end to this whole ordeal.”  
“You will,” her best friend said.  
“You can’t know that!” she cried, feeling the tears building.  
“Of course I can,” he said cheekily. “I’m the Chosen One, remember? I defeated the Dark Lord and all that heroic stuff?”  
Despite the tears that had escaped, Hermione couldn’t help but laugh. Harry loathed his fame, but he wasn’t above using it every now and then, especially if one of his friend’s was in need. Hermione desperately needed a laugh right now. Reaching up, Harry wiped the stray tears from her cheeks before pulling her into a much needed hug.  
“Don’t worry,” he said fiercely. “You’ll figure this out and you will break the spell. It’s only a matter of time.”  
Hermione sincerely hoped that Harry was right.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Hallowe’en Ball had finally arrived. Hermione smoothed out the skirt of her gown one last time before taking a look in her full length mirror. It was a simple design, the strapless, sapphire gown had a sweetheart neckline, the bodice trimmed with little bits of swirling silver brocade. The skirt was tiered, with enchanted crystals scattered amongst the folds, glowing softly against the silk. On her feet were matching slippers that sparkled as she twirled about her room. Hermione had forced her bushy hair into a sleek bun, though a few tendrils had escaped, framing her face. She had no choice but to wear the pendant, but at the last minute, Hermione decided to wear the sapphire earrings.  
Sliding her wand into the slim, hidden pocket that she’d sewn into the dress, she put on long white gloves and slipped her silver and sapphire mask into place. Hermione hadn’t bothered with much makeup, just some mascara and light pink gloss for her lips. Deeming herself ready, she left her bedroom and made her way downstairs. Draco was waiting at the bottom, leaning casually against the wall. For a moment, she felt a slight pang of envy. He looked like he’d been born to wear tuxedos. The black slacks, white dress shirt and long tailed jacket fit him like a second skin. His bow tie was sapphire blue, as were the accents and his mask. Draco glanced up when he heard her on the stairs.  
Hermione might have been insulted by the disbelief she saw in his silver eyes, but even she had to admit that his reaction was warranted. The last time Draco had seen her in something remotely like this was the Yule Ball in their fourth year and that was more than three years ago. She’d changed quite a bit since then. Once she’d reached the bottom of the staircase, he pushed off the wall and offered his hand. Hermione took it and Draco tucked her fingers into the crook of his elbow before setting off. The Great Hall was magnificent. Draco’s sketches had been brought to life in the form of gauzy drapes, the crooked black trees and the enchanted, Origami bats that glided amongst the guests.  
Hermione’s fireflies gathered around the black trees, creating a soft, ethereal glow in their makeshift forest. Draco had reused the small, round tables from the Yule Ball and draped them in various cloths of grey, black and silver. Small jack-o-lanterns, carved with various scenes of magic, adorned the table tops. The Hogwarts House-Elves were manning the buffet, keeping dishes filled and the food piping hot. Crystal stones buffed to resemble skulls held buckets of ice with various beverages. The balloons hung above the dance floor and a tricky bit of magic would release them at midnight. Draco’s last addition to the over-all look was a gentle, billowing fog that rolled across the floor.  
“It’s stunning,” Hermione breathed.  
“Yes,” Draco agreed, looking directly at her. “Stunning.”  
Hermione felt a hot blush stain her cheeks. Draco smiled, obviously pleased by her reaction and started steering her towards the dance floor. She started to follow him, only to find her way blocked by no less than nine wizards. It was the more persistent bunch of her admirers. Hermione shuddered as she remembered what she was supposed to do tonight. Draco’s hand tightened on hers momentarily and then he took a step back. He whispered in her ear, promising that he would be back to claim the last dance at midnight. Hermione felt a sinking sensation in her chest, but she could hardly blame him for disappearing. The nine wizards were all vying for her attention, each determined to be first.  
Hermione picked one at random, allowing the masked man to lead her through the steps of a clumsy waltz. She could tell it was going to be a long night. She was right. Four hours. Four hours spent in the company of nine different men. Hermione’s evening was a whirlwind of dancing, eating, drinking and listening to the sweet murmurs of undying love that the pendant compelled from her admirers. They were getting bolder too. All nine of the men had tried to kiss her at some point and instead of giving in to those kisses, Hermione found herself dodging them. She finally had enough and waved them all off, heading to the nearest chair. She plopped down and tore the shoes from her feet.  
Feeling the cool, smooth stone beneath her blistered soles drew a soft moan of relief from her lips. Hermione closed her eyes. It was fifteen minutes until midnight. She had seen Draco slip out of the Great Hall twenty minutes ago and he had yet to return. Her friend had spent most of his evening socialising, while also monitoring the ball. He danced only once; partnering Susan while Seamus was taking his turn with Hermione. The rest of the time, she could feel Draco’s eyes burning into her back. It was comforting to know that someone was looking out for her, even if it felt just a bit unsettling. At least it was almost over. Reaching up, Hermione untied the ribbons of her mask and set it aside.  
“Sickle for your thoughts?”  
Hermione felt a glass pressed into her hand and she opened her eyes to find Draco kneeling in front of her. He’d also removed his mask. She looked down at the liquid in her glass. It was as clear as water, but shimmered softly with magic.  
“Drink it,” Draco urged. “It will help with the pain.”  
Oh. A healing potion. That’s where he’d gone off to. Hermione pressed the glass to her lips, drinking in an eager rush. Immediately she felt better. Calmer. The pain in her feet lessened and she sighed with relief before thanking him.  
“Couldn’t have you limping through our dance,” he chuckled. “Shall we?”  
It was five minutes to midnight and the string quartet had just struck up one of her favourite Muggle songs. As the opening chords of Edwin McCain’s I’ll Be floated through the hall, Hermione placed her fingers against Draco’s palm, allowing him to lead her to the centre of the dance floor. The only students to remain at this late hour were the sixth and seventh years, so there was plenty of room to dance. Despite this, Draco placed his hand on her waist and pulled her as close as he possibly dared. Hermione didn’t mind. She had seen him dance and knew she didn’t have to worry about squashed toes or clumsiness. Having tripped more than a dozen times earlier, this was a welcome change.  
“I see the poet’s stone is still intact,” said Draco.  
“I couldn’t go through with it,” Hermione said, her skirts rustling as he spun her in a graceful turn. “I’ll quit Hogwarts if I have to, but I won’t kiss a bunch of be-spelled men. It’s not right Draco. Half of them have girlfriends and the others… none of them would be acting that way towards me if not for the stupid enchantment.”  
“How can you be sure?” he asked.  
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “It’s just a feeling.”  
Draco nodded, spinning her out and then pulling her back. Hermione turned a bit harder than she’d intended and slammed into his chest. He barely staggered, steadying her with ease. She felt the breath leave her lungs as she looked up at him.  
“Alright?” he inquired.  
Hermione nodded, feeling the same kind of haziness she’d felt when he stroked her wrist to calm her. What the hell was going on? Draco held her a little tighter and continued the waltz. The clock struck the hour and they both looked up. Right on cue, the music died and the balloons were released. The Origami bats bounced against the balloons, making her smile as sounds of awe and laughter rose up from her fellow students. Feeling gentle hands against her cheeks, she tore her gaze from the ceiling. Draco had cupped her face, his grey eyes soft, but also a touch sad. The final chime sounded and with it, the fireflies and silver candles she’d conjured disappeared, plunging the hall into darkness.  
“Hermione… I’m sorry.”  
Draco was apologising? Before Hermione could ask why, his lips were on hers. The kiss was gentle; nothing more than a brushing of their mouths, but the warmth it sparked in her core completely overwhelmed her. The torches flared to life, bathing the room in light, but Hermione failed to notice as Draco deepened the kiss. The increase of pressure helped her snap out of her daze and she kissed him back. The chain around her neck grew heavier and snapped. The poet’s stone hit the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces.  
“Well that worked,” Draco remarked, looking smug.  
Hermione stared at him, spluttering as the pieces fell into place.  
“You sent me the earrings.”  
He nodded, his smirk widening.  
“Much nicer than the pendant, don’t you agree?”  
“How did you know the spell would break?” Hermione demanded.  
Draco rolled his eyes.  
“That kiss too subtle for you? I thought it was rather obvious.”  
He kissed her again, harder this time. Hermione melted, letting herself get lost in the heat of Draco’s lips. In the midst of their passion, both of them sent a silent thanks to Fred Weasley. Like magic, the prankster’s trick had transformed into a treat.

**Author's Note:**

> Please Read and Review :)
> 
> Categories Won: Favourite Non-Canon, Favourite Ship Portrayal, Best Grammar and Best Overall Story.


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